


The Only Way He Taught Me

by Flor_of_Desert, winter_hare



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Damen is a little out of character here sorry, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Canon, mentions of abuse, they're kings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flor_of_Desert/pseuds/Flor_of_Desert, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hare/pseuds/winter_hare
Summary: "He sat there against the hard wall, the room he was inside felt blurry and far away. He couldn’t feel anything but sorrow and pain, he had lost it all. Everything he had never deserved."One wrong move at court leaves the kings spiralling through memories and questioning each others loyalties, for what is dead may always haunt the living.





	1. Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This wonderful fic was written by my most beautiful wife, I only helped to edit after she translated it from her mother tongue. I hope you enjoy her beautiful words as much as I have <3 <3 <3

Laurent paced the length of the chamber, his footsteps echoing the beat of his heart. His mind was miles away, tracing the spots on the walls in a bedroom from long ago. He felt the cool air on his face, smell the delicate flowers from the window, the ones his mother had planted. He could feel the person that had laid next to him, all those nights ago. It felt so close sometimes, so real. 

He slid down to the floor, it was so cool against his skin in the warm weather. He was burning up, it felt like so many memories were piled into the room, all of them crashing down upon him despite all of the effort and years he had spent so carefully locking them away inside him. 

He couldn’t even see the palm of his hands, everything seemed cloudy and his thoughts agitated and tumultuous, left him without air. Laurent couldn’t tell if he was alone at that moment. What he most feared, however, was to be left there with those memories that were becoming more and more real. With the sunset and the sun leaving the horizon, Laurent could feel his agitated heartbeat, watching the shadows take possession of the rooms, he could live those horrible moments again.

As if his uncle were coming in at any moment, Laurent shuddered, a strangled dying sound escaping his throat. The door opened, and Damen entered the rooms he shared with his husband, he had a hand shoved in his curly hair, agitation rolling off him in waves. Laurent didn’t look at him, but he felt the heavy air that made the rooms even more suffocating for him. 

Earlier that day, they had received for a political banquet with many important people from all over Akielos, Vere, and Patras. It included all of the regular droning monotony of a political meeting, but there was one thing that had really gotten to Damen’s core. Cyril, a delegate from Karthus. All afternoon, Cyril had not taken his greedy, wandering eyes away from Laurent. This had stirred something among the kings. Damen even seemed almost about to take his sword out at points when Cyrill took things a little too far, moving to sit next to Laurent, the casual touching, that devious grin. But before Damen could do anything he could regret, Laurent interfered and, seeing that nothing could improve the situation, decided that it was the best way to move things along and possibly even better the trade deals, he reverted to dirty tricks, doing something he had not done for a long time: he flirted back.

Laurent flirted in the same way he had in his young days in Vere, always toying with lords and members of court. It was a sort of game for him at the time, an exercise of his manipulative abilities. It was a game he always won. Realizing that Cyril was an absolute idiot who thought only of his cock, Laurent lowered his voice to a silky purr, flicking his blue eyes up to stare at Cyril. Laurent carefully reached a hand up to his head, tucking a long strand of blonde behind his ear. He could play the innocent virgin well, all blushy and sweet, he fluttered his long lashes, giving off the delicate air of being completely enamored with Cyril, and it worked better than he had even planned. He could feel his Karthian companion falling right into his palm, tied up in his spiderweb of coy smiles and gentle touches. But hidden from Cyril was the bitter taste in his mouth, as if he'd just swallowed something rotten, bile welling in his throat. But if there was one thing Laurent was good at it was hiding how he really felt, he’d had years of practise. 

Cyril took advantage of the situation with very little subtlety in his endeavors. All of his intentions were clear on the hard lines of his wide Akielon jaw. Laurent flinched when he felt a hand running up his thigh, immediately covering it with a sweet laugh, he could tell people were starting to notice. Right then, Damianos stood up, a pained and severe look upon his face. His jaw was clenched. He left the room, leaving a wake of confusion and resent behind him. It caused a ripple in everyone who was present, no one dared look at Laurent. Everyone saw what had happened, and by morning it would be whispered in every ear of the kingdom: the Veretian viper that betrayed the Akielon King in his very own palace. A scandal so huge if it wasn’t dealt with it could bring nations crashing down.

Laurent could see the disgust in their facial expressions, he could practically hear their thoughts, the contempt in the room was so palpable he thought he might vomit from it, but nowhere on his face could you see the churning in his stomach. Laurent wanted nothing more than to scream in disgust, to have this vile man thrown into the deepest dungeons of Akielos. But he couldn’t. He had to act as if nothing was wrong at all, as if he wasn’t devastated by what was happening, as if the familiarity of what he was doing didn’t lead him to dark places in his own mind. He had to show just the opposite, as if he was relishing in the attention he was getting.

And so, Laurent endured the stares, and the whispers, for the rest of the evening hat followed, he held out and kept his expression soft, lessening his attention to Cyril. But the moment it was over, the moment he escaped the banquet and closed himself safely in their quarters, the weight of the world finally fell on his shoulders. He knew he had made a massive error, in his heart he already knew this wasn’t good. But that was the only way he knew how to deal with that sort of thing. He had learned that he only had two tools, his mind and his face, and he knew the power he held when he combined the two. He had learned that very quickly from his uncle, and now it was only instinct to revert back to it. But now Laurent was paying the high price for his façade that afternoon. His mind, always calm and controlled, was killing him, tearing him apart, thrusting him into a world he thought he had left behind. His skin seemed too sensitive to his own touch, and he could feel hands that were not his holding his body, his ears listening to praises as if a lover whispered them. 

And so that’s how he found himself crumpled into a ball on that cool, hard floor. Damen was in the room he knew it, but Laurent also knew he couldn’t bear to discuss what had happened, he would break. As vulnerable as he felt, he just knew that he would end up talking too much about matters never discussed before, things he had hidden even from Damen. Now was not the time, he couldn't do this right now. It was the kind of conversation Laurent knew he wasn’t ready for, he just wasn’t ready to share that part of him, he didn’t know if he ever would be. 

Laurent was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he never noticed his husband standing up from his place in the shadows. With difficulty, he looked up to see a dark shadow looming above him and his entire body became immediately rigid. With no time to recover from the sight, he recoiled as a heavy hand touched his shoulder, unable to look the owner in the face. Trembling under the firm touch, Laurent was terrified of what he would see if he did.

"Laurent," the voice was deep and masculine. Laurent closed his eyes.

It was no use, the demons in his head still screamed and thrashed around, so much stronger than they had been for a very long time.

"Go away!" He cried in a trembling, choked voice, but almost no sound came out at all. The hand pulled back, almost surprised at the outburst.

“Laurent,” it said again, persistence clear. A fear bubbled inside Laurent, voices swam and mixed. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore, only the shaking of his hands wrapped so tightly around his body. "What the hell were you doing?"

But Laurent couldn’t hear anything else, the voices not letting him think. He just wanted to be left alone. "Go away, Uncle, please."

Silence.

The air, suffocating before, was now cold, it bit at his skin. If he had looked up, he would have seen the way Damen straightened, held himself with so much emotion all at once, he would have seen how his eyes were wide and the way his breath hitched. He would also have seen how quickly pain changed to fury on his face and how he had to stop to not reach down to Laurent and wrench him off the ground. 

 

"Is this some kind of joke?" He spat. "Do you think that I'm as despicable as h...", Damen interrupted himself, anger consuming him. "If you love him so much after all, why don’t you run back to Vere and your precious uncle because it sure seems like he’s all you ever think about. Him and other men,” Damens hands were fists, “He’s dead Laurent, and still he’s more important than me. Take that fucking delegate when you go." With that, Damen left the room, leaving a shattered Laurent behind him.

After a long time, Laurent finally felt human again, he felt as broken as the day Auguste had died, empty and worn. He couldn’t control his body, so he just sat there on the floor, right where Damianos had left him and felt the hot tears streaking familiar paths on his face. His eyes stung as he cried, he cried like he had never done before. Not even the day that his uncle had finally taken from him the very last thing he had to give when he took him into his bed. He just couldn’t stop screaming, a sound of pure agony, screams so loud that they tore through all of the emotions in his chest, leaving his voice so raw that he didn’t even have a voice. He screamed until he physically couldn’t, so he just sat in the silence pierced by his misery. He could only stay there, sitting on the floor, weak, exhausted from all the voices in his head and the mistakes that he had made, crying without being able to raise his arms to put his hands to his mouth. He only existed at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more. He sat there against the hard wall, the room he was inside felt blurry and far away, he couldn’t feel anything but sorrow and pain, he had lost it all. Everything he had never deserved. 

Even the morning seemed to have suffered the night before, the sun was missing in the sky and everything was gray on the horizon, casting a delicately dreary air over the entire city. It was still early when Damen stalked down to the arena to train with Nikandros, in a sour attempt to calm down. He hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before, he hadn’t really even tried. He had tried to walk and think about what had happened but his mind was so fogged over with anger that the only thing that came of the night was a broken sword. He was still angry, the burn of the night before lighting a flame in his heart. He felt so betrayed. But he was a little more calm that he had been in the heat of it, he was calm enough to understand that maybe some of what he had said had gone too far. As soon as he finished burning off some of the energy he had, he would go to Laurent to try and figure out what had happened, and what the hell Laurent thought he was playing at. Even just thinking about Laurent made anger well back up in his throat, he could still feel the pain of seeing him with Cyril the night before, he could still hear that laugh, it made him sick. But he would apologize to Laurent, he would demand to know what was going on, all of this was wrong, Laurent couldn’t do this.

 

Nikandros had found him halfway there, his expression clearly confused, he raked Damen for some sort of explanation of what Laurents display with Cyril had been.

"Damen, last night with Laurent, what was that?" He asked worriedly. Nikandros being genuinely worried about Laurent was not a common occurrence, Nikandros never cared about anything related to Laurent. But this had to do with Damen too, this had to do with the whole country, they were the kings, after all. 

Damen was about to answer, his mouth open and half formed words on his tongue, but he was interrupted by a palace servant leading a horse. He looked worried, frightened by something that he had seen. It was then that Damen saw him, in his riding clothes, stiff and dark, putting his gloves on delicate porcelain hands. Laurent didn’t notice him standing there, he didn’t think Laurent was noticing much at all. But Damen could see the deep circles beneath his swollen, tired eyes. The grey light of the morning cast even darker shadows onto his face, deepening the lines, making him look, older, harsher. This is not the Laurent Damen knew, the one he loved. This was some barren creature, empty of all the things he recognized. A glimmer of a man held together only by the tight laces of his clothes.

It was a matter of seconds: in one moment, Laurent was riding, and in the next, leaving. Damen knew that he used to ride to think and get away from court, but something this time seemed different from all the others, this time it felt so permanent, so real. Damen felt a tightness collapse his chest, and ran to the young boy who had brought the horse.

"Where is he going, boy?" He said, unable to hide his worried tone.

"Exalted,” the boy bowed his head deeply, his scared eyes pinned to the ground, “I do not know. He just told me to get his horse ready.”

It was then that Damen knew that the tightness in his heart had all the right to be there, and that the worries in his head were all too real. He had done this, he had told him to leave, he had ruined this and now he was gone. Laurent was going to Vere. Away from him, away from their home, alone. 

With nothing but his dead uncle to accompany him on the trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (WE’RE LEAVING THIS PHRASE HERE, I’LL ALREADY HAVE MY PLACE GUARANTEED IN HELL SO WHY NOT MAKE IT WORTHY THE TRIP?)  
> RIP  
> I HATE MYSELF SERIOUSLY, I THINK THIS IS THE BEST AND WORST PLACE WE COULD POSSIBLY DO IT. HURT ALL OUR READERS  
> THAT’S THE SPIRIT  
> THAT’S WHY IT’S CALLED ANGST
> 
> LORD KNOWS IT
> 
> AHSDJKNE;OFIVNWE[OIVNWE[IOVNEW[VONJ WE ARE CRUEL CRUEL PEOPLE
> 
> SERIOUSLY, WE’RE LEAVING ALL OF THIS ON THE NOTES I LOVE AND HATE THIS CREATION ITS SO PERFECT BUT SO BAD AND TERRIBLE


	2. Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait, hopefully this satisfies any cravings! Also, my apologies in advance <3  
> As always, a huge round of applause for my wonderful fandom wife @Flor_of_Desert for putting up with me and doing all of the wonderful writing, I'm merely the editor after translation!

Somehow Laurent made it to Vere. He couldn’t remember many details of the trip there, only that it was weeks without any communication with Ios. He could still feel the burn of riding in his legs. Vaguely, Laurent remembered leaving Herode responsible for any important matter during his absence, but the majority of everything was a complete blur. 

At Arles, though less gloomy, Laurent could still feel his uncle's dark looming presence. He had left a horrible taint, a stain that couldn’t be scrubbed out. It would take years of hard work to completely remove all traces of that wicked, vile man. But his name would never leave the tongues of the people who knew it. 

At present, the focus of the young king was to strive to ensure the stability of the government, his unplanned departure had posed new obstacles that had to be faced.

In his first week at court, Laurent thought of nothing but the work he had. He concentrated on assuring his counselors in Akielos that everything was perfectly alright, he said it so much it almost felt true. Communication with them, though slow, was frequent and Laurent often found himself working late into the night with only candlelight to handle everything. It had been a long time since he had done this, reclused into his work. He took his mind off things, spared no second for a thought of anything else.

When he had free time, he immediately headed to the library for ideas, he was working on many projects for the poorer citizens of Vere, something his uncle had completely ignored. His mind was calmer because of his constant work, but Laurent could feel his body coming to the point of exhaustion. Sooner or later, he would break, and this time he would be completely alone, alone in the place where it had all begun, where he knew the voices could get to him. He hadn’t been back here since his uncle had died, since he had left with Damen as his slave to go to the border. It felt like no time had passed, here he still felt like that scared nineteen year old with no one left to turn to. 

Laurent couldn’t keep his act up much longer, he couldn’t keep working himself like he was. There were deep marks under his eyes, he couldn’t remember a time without them. He was gaunt and almost sickly, his exhaustion was making him useless in matters of politics, how could he keep a country together if he couldn’t even keep himself together? He was falling apart. It was around then that he made the decision to do something he couldn’t for many years.

He went to visit Auguste’s grave.

Auguste was the best man Laurent had ever known, and he had always adored him, completely doting on him as a child, tripping over his heels and hiding in his shadow. It seemed now that Laurent would never leave his brother’s shadow, he was forever the foolish young prince that was never meant for the throne, Auguste’s throne. Auguste, the crown prince who always had time for his younger brother, even when Laurent knew he was horribly busy, always fussing with his royal duties. Laurent never visited his grave, nor did he attend the funeral. They told him afterwards that it had been something very beautiful and sad, the culmination of an entire nation weeping for the death of their golden prince. But Laurent didn’t leave his room for a whole month, and refused to appear in public, not that anyone cared, or even noticed. But deep down, he knew that if he went to the funeral, everything would become real. Auguste's death would become a fact. If he brought flowers to his brother's grave, laid his fingers on that cool, cool stone, he would be thrust into the reality that he could never talk with Auguste again, never feel the light of that beautiful smile on his face, that he would never embrace his brother again.

Laurent put off that visit for many years. Now it was time to turn to the only person who could help him. Even if he couldn’t reply, Laurent needed to talk to Auguste.

Since the death of his father, Laurent had not returned to the family graves, but he remembered the way enough to make the journey at dusk, not enough light to guide him well. The walk was long and winding, it felt excruciating to walk, like he was dragging his legs through water. Every part of him screamed to turn back, but he knew he had to go. Auguste had always been there to help, always. 

Laurent didn’t know what to expect, perhaps deep down he was convinced that if he went there, he would see Auguste kneeled in front of their mother's grave, leaving her favorite flowers on the marble, murmuring something in a whisper that Laurent wouldn’t hear from so far away. Then, realizing that he wasn’t alone, Auguste would turn to him, ignoring his tears, and open a sincere smile for his brother. In that scene imagined by Laurent - which mirrored the past - Auguste would call him close and the two would sit together, then he would tell him a story about the wonderful things he learned from their mother before Laurent was born. In Laurent's imagination, he was still a curious and impertinent child who, as figtety as he was, would always sit down to listen to one of his older brother's stories. He loved listening to Auguste speak. The way his eyes lit up, how he waved his arms in the air. Laurent would beg him for another story, but Auguste would just hold him close and whisper in his ear that he could have more tomorrow, it was getting late. 

But none of that happened. Auguste wasn’t there by their mother's grave. No one was there at all except the plants that grew in disarray. Laurent stood alone in front of three graves, shoulders rising and falling in huge breaths that racked his frame. Shadows danced among the nearby trees and he thought of lowering himself, to kneel as Auguste used to do when he went there, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, he was frozen in emotion. He didn’t know what he expected to feel when he got there, grief maybe, sorrow. But the anger that ripped through him was a surprise.

"You abandoned me," he said, his voice choked.

No one answered. Laurent wished they had.

"You promised..." he continued, a little more firmly. "You promised to come back." A sob found its way out of his throat. "I trusted you, and every day when I woke up, I always expect you to come back. I hate being here without you. "

The silence was the only response Laurent received. The dull sound of his words hitting the trees closed in on him, his ears were ringing.

"So much happened since I saw you," He continued. "So many things we would have avoided if you were here with me."

"I don’t blame you," Tears streamed freely down his face. "I never blamed you, Auguste." And he wished that Auguste could be there to look into his eyes and see that he was telling the truth.

"I wonder alot about how you would react if you knew that I fell in love with the man who killed you," He smiled bitterly, "I think you would laugh and find it all ironic. You always had a sense of humor at the worst possible time."

But Auguste didn’t answer. Laurent did not expect him to.

"But I'm not here for that, brother," he said sadly, his voice was wet with emotion. "Since you've been gone, I've made many mistakes. I've hurt a lot of people. I…"

Laurent took a deep breath, trying to slow the sobbing, and continued, "I've hurt the only man I ever loved after you, Auguste. I hurt Damen. And I did it by choice, I was so s-stupid. There was this awful man, I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t mean it Auguste, it just, happened "

"A-Auguste I-I..."

"I don’t know how to fix it this time," he said. The truth in the sentence almost shocked him, he hadn’t allowed himself to think about this, to muddle over his feelings.

"Please ..." he cried. "Please, I need your help. I don’t know what to do. You’re the only one who always knew what to do, you said you’d always be there to help me."

"Don’t leave me here alone." He begged, sinking to his knees. "I don’t want to be alone anymore, Auguste."

When there were no tears left in his eyes, Laurent laughed. It wasn’t ironic or bitter laughter. It was the kind of happy laugh that made him look five years younger, when the weight of the world hadn’t fallen on his shoulders and he could feel the light of a bright, worry-free future on his face. 

He just laughed because he could. Because he knew Auguste wouldn’t mind if he was there. And he laughed especially because he hadn’t really had the chance to relax and just laugh since everything had happened, since his brother had left. It was liberating. The pain of just being there was crushing his chest, it felt like his heart was being ripped out of its cavity. But this laughter made Laurent feel light, like the breath that was being compressed and shoved down his throat was finally being let out. He was finally just Laurent again - much more than he had felt in the past few weeks.

Then he just sat there. Laurent finally understood why Auguste bent down to talk to their mother. It made sense not to want anyone else to hear him, so raw and vulnerable. Now all that previous screaming seemed wrong, the rawness of his throat an affront to the whole scene.

"I'm sorry, Auguste," he said softly. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I know you'll never be able to help me again and I think I was angry because of it. It's just ... it's hard without you here. " Laurent ran a finger over the white marble of Auguste’s memorial. He could feel the cool stone, so sturdy and strong. 

"I miss you brother." And this time, Laurent could almost feel Auguste answering back. "And I made the mistake of thinking someday things would be easier, but it is not. Every day is more difficult. Sometimes I find myself trying to remember our moments together and I … I can’t. "

Laurents voice fell low and soft, as if he was telling a secret no one else should hear. "it's been so long since you left me that I forgot what the sound of your voice was like ..."

His expression, saddened by admission, assumed a determined tone. "I've already lost you, Auguste. Every day I keep losing more of you. I will not let that happen to Damen, I won’t. We both made mistakes that day but I will not let them make me lose him too. "

Laurent did not know if he was dreaming, or if he had imagined it, but he could swear he could see Auguste perfectly kneeling in front of him, a satisfied smile on his lips. It was so delicate, just a whisper of a vision, or memory. But Auguste seemed happy with his brother's progress, glad to know that Laurent had made the right decision. But Laurent knew every expression of his brother, and that was new, a mixture of genuine happiness and sadness in his eyes. It did not make sense to Laurent. Auguste never looked sad, especially when Laurent made the right choices.

And then Laurent understood. Even in his imagination, the ever-present Auguste was saying good-bye. It should not have been possible, but Laurent understood that it would probably be his last perfect memory of his brother, the last time he'd actually see him. But Auguste could not leave him! It was not fair.

And looking into eyes as blue as his own, Laurent could see the truth: he had grown up, he was no longer a little boy who needed help from an older brother. Auguste was no longer needed there, so he was sad. Because his little brother had realized he was a man that could make the right choices and solve his mistakes on his own.

Laurent smiled into emptiness. The image was already fading in his mind.

Now Laurent was certain that Auguste was resting in peace, after so many years he could sleep peacefully without worrying about his brother. Laurent didn’t feel prepared or capable but if Auguste trusted him, then he would do his best.

So Laurent returned to the palace, to his quarters.

That night he slept soundly, his heart finally light.

At Akielos, however, things did not go so well.

 

After the discussion - if it could even be considered a discussion when it divided not only two people but also deconstructed two kingdoms that were in the process of unification. At least the Veretian king didn’t leave Damen completely alone with the essential issues of politics and negotiations with other empires. Sometimes it even felt like he hadn’t ridden away on a horse a few weeks ago and gone to the other end of the map.

If anyone asked the opinion of Nikandros, Kyros of Ios and the king's childhood friend, he would say they were all great idiots, squabbling an arguing. The greatest idiot of all though was king Akielon himself, for over the years he has proved himself in his ability to make foolish decisions, and even with Damen as a king it appeared Nikandros wouldn’t be free of cleaning up his messes, this being no exception. 

Now Nikandros might not be the most empathetic person in the world, let alone when the subject drifted to the Veretian king, but he was a soldier and, for many years, with an army under his command. Nikandros knew the difference between someone who had swung a sword, waged war, been a veteran to horror, and someone who hadn’t. And he knew from the first moment he had actually sat down to a banquet with the prince of Vere that his gaze has landed on a survivor, someone who had fought many battles but was very new to the game of winning them.

Nikandros was not blind like Damen, he could see that the prince with those cool, calculating eyes had a darker past than anyone with such a young age should have. He was veiled in a soft innocence that had been pierced by too many a dagger. He could feel that the armour the prince wore was one he had created long ago, an attempt to survive court. But to survive what exactly Nikandros only discovered in the Regent's public execution. That day was the day Nikandros saw behind the veil, felt the tears welling behind the blue. That was the day Nikandros knew the war Laurent had fought was one he was never destined to win.

So on the day of the banquet, Nikandros was a bit surprised to see the behavior of the king of Vere, but after his departure the next day, he had no doubt that Damen had not strayed far from his usual modus operandi, creating a horrible ruckus that would take many an hour and headache to fix. Now, as he always did, Nikandros had the personal mission of finding a way to reconcile the two, save the empire from collapsing, and keep the council functioning. He had no idea how he would do it but had to start somehow.

He decided to start with Makedon: his best soldier and close friend of the King of Vere. He would be of great help when they went to talk to Damen. Moreover, he had been helping greatly since the king's departure, to the point of becoming a diplomat to keep the council in order.

And that hot afternoon he found Makedon sitting at a table with a sweating glass of wine in one hand and some state papers in the other - papers that would be discussed the next morning and to which he should not have access (to the hell with rules, Nikandros thought). Makedon noticed it and placed the papers on the table, as if he had had the same idea as himself and was just waiting for Nikandros to meet him to discuss the logistics of the subject. 

Nikandros sat down facing him, unsure how to introduce the subject that everyone avoided. But he did not have to try, Makedon quickly commented,

"The kid is getting harder to deal with every day," Makedon swigged his wine. Damen, he meant, had been spiralling out of control. Of course he continued his routine in the early days, albeit more nervous and impatient. The problem was that everyone could see that it wouldn’t last for long. The Akielon king needed someone, preferably Laurent, to help him. The two were ruthless together and now with this distance between them a great chasm had formed into which Akeilos and Vere were tumbling.

Nikandros had noticed this obviously, but he also saw that Makedon had something more substantial to say, more than a simple statement that had been tumbling through the heads of the entire court, so he waited in silence.

"Do not worry, Nikandros. Sooner or later, these two will work things out. Even if it is not possible now. Give them time," he finished, with all the conviction in the world. It almost seemed that he was not exhausted from keeping the government united. But waiting was the last thing on Nikandros’ mind.

Nikandros would have protested. He would have. But something in Makedon's conviction prevented him. It even seemed like he already knew how things would progress. By all heavens, Nikandros hated being left in the dark in such situations. Unfortunately, he knew nothing could be done and he would have to trust the commander of his army.

“I do hope you are right, my friend.”

A few years after this incident, Nikandros would laugh as he told this story to younger soldiers, saying that his instincts were right and that trusting Makedon, however as unpredictable as he was, had been his best choice under the circumstances.

In the days that followed, odd things manifested in the strange lull. The king, more unstable, was blind in the leisurely climate in which the people were. It seemed like everyone knew about some future chance and decided to act according. And it was on one of these days that the King of Vere returned to the Palace.

No one was surprised. Of course they weren’t.  
The Akielon King didn’t know until he entered a council meeting and saw everyone sitting and debating there. It was then that he noticed him.

In Calm and impeccable composure sat the King of Vere. His beauty had not changed, he was still dazzling as in all of Damen's dreams. He did not seem to notice him, or if he saw him, he did not turn his attention away. So that would be the way things would go, thought Damen, pretending nothing happened.

If Laurent could do that, he could too. And so, with a degree of struggle, he followed the whole morning on matters of state. At the end of the meeting, Laurent got up and went to lunch with the others. Damen had no choice but to do the same. All the while, he tried in vain to decipher his husband's expression, the sharp blue of his eyes, laughing with council members, the harsh cheekbones, pink lips, all the same. There weren’t even marks under his eyes. In Damen’s eyes it looked like he hadn’t even missed him at all.  
There was a certain anger that came with seeing that. How did Laurent dare to appear here without even explaining himself? Had not they gone through this silence treatment before? Why do it again? Why should he have gone through so much confusion and pain alone? 

Damen couldn’t even taste the food. Everything had gone sour. After Laurent stalked out of the hall, he had promised himself to remain calm and wait, bearing in mind that he would surely receive a plausible justification in due time. But nothing Laurent was doing at the moment helped him calm down. 

So before he could cause a public scene, Damen slammed down a fork and left the table, heading to cool his mind with physical exercise, and train in the arena. He stayed there for many hours without resting until natural light was sparse. Slicing through the air, clashing dull swords with a partner, gritting his teeth with anger. After a while he retired to his quarters, being received with a phrase he knew well:

“Hello, lover.”

Damen took a deep breath. He knew that phrase meant that a long conversation would follow. Even with so much time to think, he did not feel ready to talk to Laurent - especially in that state of nerves he was in. He felt like he would simply combust, burst into a ball of pain and rage as soon as they locked eyes for the first time. 

Laurent, on the other hand, seemed quite relaxed to the untrained eye. Reclining on day bed, he seemed to have been interrupted by reading the book on his lap. The facial expression was empty, not showing any nervousness. Damen, however, knew how to look for flaws in that posture. He could clearly see how carefully Laurent held his rigid body. His lips pressed against a thin line and he looked vulnerable even with the heavy, complicated clothes that covered him from the feet to the neck, leaving none of his skin, the soft marble Damen had grown to miss so dearly.

Tired of everything, not caring, Damen got right to the point; wrenching the dagger out of his heart, the one Laurent had plunged in so long ago, the one he had kept to staunch the blood. But now, it was cast aside, and left room for everything to pour out of Damen. 

"Why, Laurent?"

It was a simple question yet so pleading and meaningful that it made it impossible for Laurent to run away again. And he did not.

"It was the only way," he replied, referring to his actions toward Cyril.

Damen did not look satisfied, on the contrary. "Only way? Since when has the kingdom been so in need of resources that you need to lower yourself in that way to achieve something? Humiliate and embarrass me, seducing a man in front of me? If you want a lover, you could at least be discreet!" Seeing Laurent's unusual silence and lowered head, Damen continued in a low tone, "Do not play with my feelings, Laurent. Tell me why you did it."

Lifting his head, his features so suddenly broken and aching, Laurent said in a single breath and a choked voice, "It was the only way he taught me to act."

 

Instantly the air was sucked from the room. In all their time together, Laurent had never mentioned his uncle of his own free will, Damen knew that if it was up to Laurent, he would never have uttered abuses suffered by him. This was the first time, and Damen cursed himself inside because he was the idiot who did not tie the strings together even when they hung in front of him. If he had thought a little further, he would never have taken Laurent away from him, nor made him go to Vere, a place of such horrid memories, alone.

How he wanted to take Laurent in his arms and comfort him, bury his face in that silky hair, hold that small frame within his arms. He wanted to have done it that night, preventing all this. But he hadn’t, instead he had caused this pain, dug this chasm.

"Laurent, I ..." He spoke, a little softer. But the damage had already been done. There was not much more strength in Laurent's broken composure to hold and he, having misconstrued Damen's next statement, burst into tears. His own arms clung to his shrunken form.

"Damen ..." He sobbed softly and that sound made Damen want to be able to pick him up on his lap and hold him until the sun was rising again. But he could not. Laurent had not given him permission to do so.

"I'm sorry," he said, after a while, when their eyes met between them again Damen could see it now, how could he not have seen it before. Laurent was so small now, so thin, his face once sharp was now gaunt, his hair was lacklustre, shaking hands pale. In his pain he was blind to Laurents, covered so well by confidence and practise. Laurents eyes were so grey, and it seemed that those tears would not end. 

"Forgive me, Damen. Please."


End file.
